


Tale of a Filigree Prince

by ammehsuor



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (briefly i promise), A+ wingmen, Biting, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammehsuor/pseuds/ammehsuor
Summary: A normal future may be impossible now, but perhaps that's not such a bad thing.





	1. body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo it is i, your local slut for point of view changes  
> i made quite the debut with my niche filth last time but this idea has been on my mind for a while, and i really want to present akechi’s possible return from a more clinical standpoint. this written-at.4.am. skeleton was sitting in my drafts, and i figured the shuake big bang event would be a good chance to finish it off and give the fandom some bittersweet M/E rated stuff for a change. of course it got a little outta hand, but hey. i hunger for the Content.  
> there is a playlist i compiled, which you can listen to while reading if you’d like:  
> https://playmoss.com/en/emma-roush/playlist/f-i-l-i-g-r-e-e  
> thank you for your attention. let’s begin with a few words from the garbage boss himself.  
> xoxo

He barely keeps from vomiting at the thought of yesterday. Takemi is pleased.

“Must be getting easier to keep things down. Very good, Akechi-kun.”

She swipes his dishes from the TV tray and gives him a sincere smile. The curtains flutter by an open window, sunlight bleeding across her form as she walks away, and Akechi swears he sees white wings. Just another person he can’t ever repay.  
  
Six or seven months ago, was it? It feels like forever now, while he’s safe and trembling slightly. That part of it might never disappear. He can only consider the physical pain; everything else is too numb, and he knows what sort of horror the reality will be once this detachment wears off. He sits upright in the hospital bed, tightening his back brace and glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes left before visiting hours are over.

Seven months ago exactly, Akechi regained consciousness in the Velvet Room after staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by his cognitive double. It would’ve been nice to jump ship before the bullet hit. Perhaps his good luck had finally run out.

The place was oddly familiar, considering how he’d never felt the need to come back. Never felt the need to acknowledge anybody else’s plan except his own. He was gifted a power he already knew how to use for the task at hand, after all; it was just a matter of splicing the two together.

But this was a different part of that chamber. Same colors, different bars… and he lay bleeding and out of breath behind them, sheltered by the unusually quiet presence of his Personas. Other than them, he was entirely alone. It almost felt good until the echo cut through his head.

_“Why can’t you choose, even now?”_

Akechi closed his eyes. He wished he didn’t understand what Loki meant.  
  
_“You don’t really believe we can continue to coexist.”_

“I… can’t think of anything else. There is no other way out.”

_“At least we are in agreement, then.”_

A muted peace- one he didn’t feel when they pulled him out of the Metaverse into the only secluded place he could remember- washed over every wound, every tangled nerve, as he struggled to remember a reason for deserving it.  
  
_“We only know one way to remove you from the cage you put yourself in.”_ Robin Hood this time, stern and somber. Still without judgment. _“But this means mutual destruction. It means losing both sides of yourself and starting over. Is that something you’re willing to endure?”_

Akechi really, truly wanted to laugh until his lungs gave out.

“Do what you must. Just let this be the end of it.”

 _“This won’t settle the war within you, but as it is your last chance… I pray you recognize yourself back at square one.”_  
  
Even without looking directly at them, he could feel the tremors as the Personas’ powers reacted all around the cell. Swore he could see their horrific amalgamation of limbs and horns, black and white, red and gold- faces serene, shining through the pain.

It all could have been something beautiful. Something _real_ , drenched in the crimson of passion instead of blood. Maybe he could’ve learned to accept the darkness in his heart, in his wings, spreading them to rise out of the ruins Shido built around him. If only he’d stopped to figure it out.

If only they’d met a few years earlier.

_“It’s time to pull yourself together, Goro Akechi.”_

He found himself thinking like a child again, in the back streets of Tokyo with nothing to care for but his own aching wounds.

* * *

He lurches suddenly and, grabbing the closest garbage can, nearly coughs up broth and juice for the hundredth time.  
  
Yes, it’s getting easier to swallow it back down. Swallow everything back down.

It’s getting easier to go outside and walk a few blocks to the nearest park, do pull-ups on the bars, and get back to his private room before sundown. The first few times he couldn’t stay for more than an hour, paranoid that every shadowy figure would recognize him, would approach him and gun him down or worse. The boy he feared most is gone, back to his hometown, and the constant reminder is necessary. Akechi sweats under a dark hoodie each time regardless.

Yesterday afternoon’s trip was no different. Not at first.

He took a break to catch his breath and check on his funds, still in possession of a cheap cell phone. Month to month he dipped into meager savings and offered it up to Takemi in exchange for a discounted room and a pact of secrecy, though the latter didn’t seem necessary. She took one look at the bloodied excuse for a detective on her doorstep that night and agreed to a deal. _“You’ve been on TV, huh? I don’t pay attention to celebrities,”_ she said. _“But you’re in pretty bad shape, so you’re welcome to stay if you have the means.”_

She was still accepting test subjects for new medicines. Akechi was more than willing; her “worst case scenarios” really didn’t concern him all that much.

She had a particularly volatile experiment involving a vial of blood and multiple injections planned for that evening. Who knows how he expected to avoid passing out the instant a needle entered his field of vision. In all honesty, it’s no wonder he was so lost in thought. It’s no wonder he didn’t think to pull his hood back up, didn’t think to scan over the few people walking opposite him on the sidewalk while he trekked towards the clinic.

It’s no wonder he was stopped dead at the sound of his name.

This was indeed all his fault. If he’d been more careful, kept his head down, like he promised himself the day he woke up back in this wretched city…

He turned back just a touch. Just enough to catch the glare of late sunlight on the passerby’s glasses, but not enough to catch the expression behind them.

The young man said nothing else. Of course; what did he expect? There was nothing left to say now, nothing they both didn’t know already.

Even then Akechi managed a weak smile- forced, exhausted.

“Long time no see.”

-

Akechi didn’t take the bottled green tea that Akira wordlessly offered from his bag. He just stared the boy down, keeping his distance. Every attempt to get closer was met with resistance. Because Akira didn’t mean any of it. He couldn’t really want to be sticking around like this.

“Why don’t you come sit with me for a little while?” Akira smiled.

“Why don’t you keep on walking?” Akechi snapped back, mimicking the smile. Immediately his heart wrenched at the disappointment weaving into Akira’s face, remembering that some bullshit never changes. “What is there to talk about?”

“Quite a bit. Don’t kid yourself.”  
  
This boy was the same as always. Paralyzing stare, slouched posture, quiet voice somehow drowning out the impending wind and rain. Akechi shivered.

“Nothing I have to say will interest you.” He leaned down and gathered his things, shoving them back into his shoulder bag haphazardly. “Or would you prefer it if I lied? Would you like me to say how sorry I am, and how I just want you to come back to the clinic with me so we can talk and you can fall asleep in the armchair like some kind of fretful lover?” Tears pricked at his eyes. “Do the wise thing and get lost.”  
  
“The clinic.” Of course Akira disregarded ninety percent of his tirade. “So that’s where you’ve been hiding out since last year?”  
  
Belatedly, Akechi realized he slipped up. God fucking _damn_ it. He wrung his trembling hands, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I won’t follow you back there or anything.” Akira’s shoe audibly crunched into the park rubble. “Maybe you can meet me outside tomorrow night, and we can get dinner.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Come on. I just spent half a year wondering what happened to you. I only want to talk—"  
  
“I’m sure you do, and I’m sure you’ll be disappointed. Just knock it off. This whole… whatever you’re trying to do here. It’s a waste of time.”

The silence hung for a minute, and Akechi almost turned around at the nagging fear that he’d been alone this whole time, talking to an illusion. Instead, he found Akira staring him down.  
  
“A waste of whose time?”

Akechi ran a hand over his face. “Yours. Both of ours.” _Whatever keeps you away from me._ “I mean it, Kurusu. You should have kept on your way. Please just forget this ever happened.”

If Akira responded, Akechi couldn’t hear it over the thunder of the downpour and his shoes in the mud. Deliberately heavy steps made sure of that.

He returned to the clinic soaked with rain and sweat and curled up in a cold, dark bed with his book, like always.

He hated the things he did to himself, like always.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it seems the only thing Akira can forget is the speech Akechi gave him the night before.

Just when he thinks that reckless boy took his advice, he shows up to the clinic long after visiting hours with a carry tray of coffees, gratefully accepted by a Takemi who spent the entire day typing up reports, and gives Akechi the worst smug look in the entire world. He can’t even read a book in peace.  
  
“You just don’t listen, do you?”  
  
“Not especially well, no.” He lifts the carry tray. “I already had business here, but how funny that I ran into you. Have you eaten yet?”  
  
What a shameless lie. Akechi would smack that look off his face in an instant if he were cleared for that kind of activity.

Akira doesn’t have many questions for Takemi. Quietly, Akechi hopes he doesn’t blame her for all this. The fact that she ran a private practice was probably the only thing keeping him safe. One question, though, gets a lot of attention, and it’s not for the doctor.

“You’re doing a personalized therapy program with Tae?”  
  
Akechi reaches for the TV remote in the pouch on his hospital bed, turning the volume down, and sighs.  
  
“You didn’t ask her to elaborate? She knows more about it than I do. I’m still at the beginning.”  
  
“Meh.” Akira leans down from his stool, crossing his arms on the sheets and resting his head. “I’m more interested in how you’re doing right now. Especially when it comes to how well you’re eating. Seriously, dinner’s on me tonight.”

Takemi pops her head around the corner, and her devious smile nearly rips Akechi’s resolve to bits in an instant.

“You didn’t tell me you had plans with a friend tonight, Akechi-kun. I’m really happy with your progress lately. Just don’t get too far ahead of me, okay? I still have a few new formulas to test on my wonderful little guinea pig.” She pouts. “To think I was just about to fix you some eggs I found in the back of the fridge this morning. They’re probably still good a few months after the expiration date, right?”

In the end, Akechi rushes to get dressed. Maybe some fresh air would be good for a change.

* * *

Soon after, an ex-thief and a villain by proxy discuss lost time over dinner and coffee. Akechi thinks it would make the most wonderful, horrible romantic comedy, but somehow, it’s not so funny when you live it.

“Seven months… man, it really has been that long, now that I think about it.”  
  
Akira’s eyes are unreadable. Akechi wonders what he was expecting to see in them otherwise.

When did he agree to talk about all of this? He always falls for this boy’s goddamn tricks. Everything on the plate tastes like sand; he’s not sure how long he’s had this perpetual cotton-mouth, but maybe it’s another bit of damage he’ll simply have to accept.

“Anyway, I figured a bit of real food might put you in a better mood,” Akira says, swirling a chocolate pretzel stick in his coffee. Disgusting. “Honestly though, your recovery program sounds pretty cool. I had no idea Tae did things like that. Although I can’t say I’m surprised… she’s secretly the sentimental type, but I’m sure you knew.”

“She won’t let me do anything that puts ‘unusual strain’ on my back or forces me to bend it. I guess she’s worried I might snap in half.”

He earns a chuckle for that, and almost returns it despite himself.

Akira really hasn’t changed much. He plans to come back to Tokyo in the summers for the sake of his friends. Morgana fell in love with the forests and temples in his hometown and claimed their woodsy backyard as a personal sanctuary. Akira works evenings at some place in Shinjuku to afford an apartment; supposedly, even with friends closer than most siblings, it’s incredibly hard to keep a lifelong only child from wanting their own private place. Akechi sympathizes with that.

The tapping of a spoon breaks him out of his trance.

“Are you okay?” Every worried question is paired with a smile on Akira’s part. He scoops a bit of omelette onto Akechi’s plate, gesturing to it deliberately.  
  
“My apologies. I was a bit preoccupied there.” He stabs the omelette and hates how much better Akira’s food tastes. Maybe ordering plain rice was a bad idea. “I suppose I expected to you ask about what happened back in December by now.”

“Second awakening, I assume?”  
  
Akechi nearly spits out egg. “I… y-yes, that probably is a good way to describe it. How did you know?”

“I know second awakenings are possible. That’s all I really need.” Akira leans forward. “But it’s been over half a year. I’m curious to know how nobody recognized you after your disappearance.”

 _Who cares_ is the first thing that comes to mind, but he shoves it back down. “Most of these stores around here… they don’t pay any mind to celebrities,” Akechi says, choosing his words carefully. “Beyond that it was mostly hiding in plain sight. Perhaps a passerby thought they recognized me once or twice. I looked ‘familiar.’ I just laughed and said I got those comments a lot. It wasn’t hard, especially when the whole world has forgotten you.”  
  
“That’s a bold statement.”

Akechi chokes on a bitter laugh. “You think I took up more than a moment of anyone’s thoughts?”  
  
“…I think you’d be surprised.”

The gritty feeling in his mouth comes back. Things were going so well for a minute there, he nearly forgot this was all a façade to toy around with reality. Akira’s aloof, devilish attitude remains as infuriating as ever.

“You’re so naïve. Considering all you’ve been through.”

Akira clearly didn’t expect that. Confusion blinks in and out of his eyes like a camera shutter.

“Did I say something wrong? I really do believe the world didn’t forget you. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t? Oh.” Akechi lifts his coffee cup to gaze at Akira over the rim. “You flatter me, Kurusu-kun. Frankly you always have. It’s a wonder I don’t drag you outside and pin you to the alley wall, just like I’ve always wanted. Would you like that?”  
  
Akira’s reaction is too void of surprise; the sudden rush of irritation has Akechi convinced that he could crush the teacup to dust in his bare hands.

“Of course, I’m only kidding.”  
  
“Obviously.” Akira watches him pull out his wallet and throw a stiff twenty on the table. “I just don’t understand—”  
  
“—And that’s where you fail. Because I _do_ understand. I understand how people think. What they want to see and hear. Manipulation comes naturally to me, and everybody wants to use talent like that without feeling responsible. They want to find someone to do it for them. And I’m that person; I’m their last resort.” Akechi solidifies his expression, completely plastic. “Why doesn’t that scare you, Kurusu-kun?”

The boy’s face is unreadable. “Why should it?”  
  
“Because sometimes I even believe myself, as you’ve seen. Sometimes, it feels freeing, letting it flow out of me like the truth. I probably believed a lot of what I said back in the orphanage. Tricking older kids out of their pocket money and such. I enjoyed watching people’s optimism fade, because I knew the truth. I knew how cruel the world will be to you if you’re not one of the lucky ones.”  
  
Akira picks up his own cup like he’s trying to give his hands something to do. He doesn’t argue, and Akechi was moments from storming out after covering the bill to absolve himself of any guilt, but something in the silence makes him stay. He stares out the window, watching passersby blur into the glare of streetlamps.

“I’m… really sorry. That was insensitive of me,” Akira says, finally. “I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Akechi lowers his hackles without intending to. Akira should probably let him storm out instead of apologizing for... what, exactly? But he’s started rummaging through his jacket pocket, searching for something clearly out of reach. He digs around for a good minute trying to juggle the half-full cup, and Akechi yanks it away just as it’s about to tip.

“What are you doing?”  
  
“Making it up to you.”  
  
“Jesus. It can’t be that important.”

“But it _is_ … ah! Gotcha.” Akira presents a tiny drawstring bag and trades it for the tea before Akechi can protest. “Open it.”

He’s hesitant- wearing an expression between surprise and anxiety, really- but he does as he’s told and slides a smooth, ornate bell into his hand.

“This is-”  
  
“It’s, uh… a filigree charm, I think it’s called?” He shrugs. “Boss gave it to me back when I had to stay in hiding and started going a little stir crazy. Apparently whenever you hear it ringing, it means somebody is thinking about you; it’s a reminder that you’re never alone.”

Akechi stares at it. Turns it over in his palm. It jingles quietly, the sound ringing out from intricate shapes cut into the red metal.

Nobody had ever given him a present like this. Typically he got generic candies from a fan, or office supplies clearly gifted out of obligation from a coworker; he never felt any desire to accept them, just to let them rot in the corner of his apartment, uneaten and unused.

“How thoughtful,” is all he can manage. It doesn’t sound like a total lie, but Akechi is stiff, cradling the bell like it might suddenly burst into flames.

“If you don’t want it, you can toss it later. Just make sure I’m not looking so my heart isn’t broken.” He says it like a joke, but Akechi despises the way his stomach drops from picturing such a scene.

“I… actually really appreciate this.” Akechi forces the words out like venom. He places the bell on a cloth napkin and rests his hands on his knees, clearly thinking hard. “That’s why it’s so damn frustrating.”

“Oh… um, I don’t follow.”

Mechanically, Akechi huffs and turns to him, but doesn’t look up.  
  
“In the past, if I didn’t see any need for a gift, I could easily refuse it and that would be that. I’ve done it plenty of times. But part of my therapy is learning to accept tokens of kindness from others. It isn’t easy for me, so to make it a bit more… mathematical, I decided to always offer something in return.” Finally, he meets Akira’s eyes. “I have nothing to give you.”

At first Akira just stares. Then, clearly against his better judgment, he starts to laugh.

“You don’t owe me anything. Knowing you’d enjoy hanging onto it is good enough.”

“I want to give you something physical. That’s how I decided to work through this in the beginning until I can figure out something else. Please just play along.”

“…Okay.” Akira mellows out and wordlessly requests the bell for a moment, whipping it around his finger by the chain. “How about you offer me your company for tonight? My apartment is still pretty disorganized from moving back, but it’s probably better than… what, another night in the dungeon? You’ve got to be sick of hospital rooms by now.”

Neither of them noticed, but Akechi had been shaking his head in disbelief throughout the proposition.  
  
“That’s very funny. You’re such a fool. You don’t want me there; I’m not good company.”

And he really doesn’t think so. Lately every day was comprised of eating what little he could stomach and traveling to the pull up bars if he felt motivated. He insists on this, all the way to the train station, all the way back to Akira’s apartment, all the way into his room, his bed, his mountain of sheets that smell so familiar, Akechi thinks he might burst into tears through the insistent dissuasion.

Akira just pulls the sheets closer to him while typing out a text message of consolation for Takemi. It’s much too late for this, he’s fondly told.  
  
And he agrees with that the whole sleepless night through. But there’s no fondness in the thought at all.

* * *

Akira doesn’t stop visiting the clinic. Apparently Takemi really wants to bring him up to speed regarding the progress of some drug she developed last year, and they often disappear into her office for hours on end, howling with laughter from time to time. Akechi shoves in some cheap earbuds and buries his nose in a book at the sound of it.

He’s sure Akira will taper off his visits once he realizes Akechi is not all that interesting to be around. He finds that days pass like years when you haven’t broken your routine since before you can remember. Yet, through days and days, the sky never descends into a storm. When Akira leaves for work each night, at first, Akechi spends his time in front of the TV absently wondering if this will be the day he’s abandoned for good. Too many people participating in foster care promised to come back quickly and broke those promises without a second thought.

But Akira always comes back. He always sits next to Akechi on the hospital bed; always stays and watches whatever he watches at three in the morning in the dark without complaint the nights he can’t sleep through the pain; always lets them inch a little bit closer, as long as there is no protest. He always, always asks Akechi if he’ll be okay sleeping alone. “It probably gets cold in here at night,” according to Akira, and that’s true. He curls into a ball in the corner of the bed most evenings, wondering why it feels so empty if it’s only meant for one broken person anyway.  
  
Takemi starts putting their frequent visitor to work, tasking Akira with making sure his therapy exercises are going as planned, whether that means accompanying him to a gym or the park, or joining him for dinner out of town for a change. Yongen-Jaya is a decent ride from Shinjuku, and Akechi knows he can handle it alone, but Akira still seems nervous letting him walk through the colorful streets at night. Akechi wants to hate the doting far more than he does.

When he hasn’t been at work during borderline concerning early hours of the morning, Akira insists on helping the therapy along through more direct means. Allegedly Takemi gave them permission to push a little harder, as long as a spotter is present, but any excitement surrounding that progress is tempered the moment Akechi realizes it requires Akira’s hands all over him.

They spend hours at a time under the increasingly menacing summer sun. No matter how light the touch is, his back often can’t handle it. He hates knowing Akira can watch him wince in pain, up close and personal, recoiling with too much care and kindness. Akechi is barely stronger than a porcelain doll in his eyes. He knows it. More than once he shoves the boy away involuntarily, which nearly always hurts like hell.

It doesn’t take long to give up his stubbornness.

Eventually much of the pain turns into a hollow, tight pressure. Akira keeps his hands flat on Akechi’s back, smoothing them down evenly, rolling the heel of his palm over dense knots and tender nerves while he stretches further and further than each day before. The routine typically goes off without a hitch, but as it gets hotter around high noon, Akira decides he doesn’t like Akechi’s unchanging attire for training outside, and he brings it up on a particularly sweltering day.

“You’re practically in a sweatsuit. It’s thirty-five degrees outside.”

“I find the discomfort makes me stronger,” Akechi bites back. “That’s the theme I’m running with lately.”

Akira nearly lets the vicegrip on his arms go slack. “No, it doesn’t. It just makes you irritable.”

“Mm?” He ends up yanking away in the end, bending forward. “But that’s always the case when we’re out here, yes?”  
  
“I’d rather you not be dehydrated _and_ pissy.”

Before he can reply, Akechi feels two hands slip under the back of his sweatshirt. He’s wearing a tank top underneath, but instantly notices how soaked it is.

He turns his head slightly. Akira’s smirk is visible from a mile away.

“Fine. I’ll dress down starting tomorrow.”  
  
“You can at least take the sweater off. We still have an hour left. You have something on underneath, don’t you?” He hooks his thumbs under the hem and pulls it up, just enough to catch on the second layer of damp fabric and expose Akechi’s abdomen to the humid air. “And I could’ve sworn I saw you pack shorts.”

“Alright, alright— knock it off already.” He slaps Akira away. “I’ll lose the sweater, but those are old casual shorts. They’ll rip if I stretch in them.”

He easily convinces himself that his face is burning from all the direct sunlight, but it’s much harder to ignore how Akira moves his hands more like a fluid dance once the sweater is off, letting every inch of Akechi’s bare skin slide through his grip like sand- like he’s memorizing their movements. The more Akira focuses on touch, the less eye contact he makes, even when they’re speaking. He seems so focused that Akechi doesn’t try his luck at bantering anymore, preferring to let his mind wander like he does during quiet rainy evenings at Takemi’s place. A late afternoon breeze starts to whirl by, or maybe it was always there, but now he feels it rush against his skin wherever the tank top rides up.

 _Is Akira lost in thought, too?_  
  
Akechi quickly scolds himself for thinking so casually of him, even in his own head. Nothing says they’re friends just because Akira is pressing down and massaging deep circles in places Akechi would normally never let anyone touch. Takemi did the same thing countless times. He lets his breath filter in and out, trying to force those unsavory musings out with it.

At some point, Akira claps his hands and the world snaps back into focus.

“Jeez, I think that was your best yet. You were practically in tears last time we tried to bend your arms like that.”

“Will you shut up?” Akechi rubs the back of his neck, wicking away the sweat. He’s so unbelievably tired; last night didn’t bring much sleep, and what little he managed was restless and full of distorted images he doesn’t care to remember.

Akira just laughs. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t mean to undermine you. How about we get some dinner and relax at my place tonight? My treat, obviously.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Kurusu.” The promise of decent food catches Akechi’s interest. He brings a hand under his chin, pensive. “But I don’t have any of my things.”

He gets a shrug in response. Akira is already throwing their gear in the gym bag and pulling out his phone.

“You can borrow some of my stuff. I’ll let Takemi know you’ll be back tomorrow,” he says, typing away. Akechi’s instinct to protest deflates with surprising speed the moment Akira smiles up at him.

He doubts he’ll ever understand why anyone would look at him that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akechi’s implied second awakening persona during that velvet room scene is based off of Dōmo-Kōmo, a yokai legend about two doctors whose rivalry over who was superior in their profession led to their decapitation and manifestation as a two-headed ghost. i feel like robin hood and loki would end up a little something like this.


	2. mind.

One trip to the sushi bar later, Akechi finds himself back on Akira’s sofa for the third time this month. He tries to focus on the television and whatever goofy game show they threw on, and he’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be funny, but nothing can quite drown out the awful feeling in his stomach.

He rests his head between his knees and grips idly at the shirt Akira lent him: black with white dots scattered like stars by a chest pocket, soft and worn from use. He wishes he had more than the embarrassingly thin black shorts he brought to change into in case they stopped by a food truck or something after the workout, but it was far too hot for much else anyway.

A light touch brushes his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?”  
  
Akira looks to him with concern, and through the sting in his eyes Akechi can feel how close he came to nodding off. He shakes away the delirium and nods.

“Didn’t sleep well. I’m rather burnt out by this point.”  
  
“Well, you should listen to your body when it tells you to sleep. That’s when it takes time to repair itself, you know.”

Akechi rolls his eyes, but he smiles a bit all the same. “Fine… are you sure you don’t want the bed?”  
  
“Eh, I sleep in it every night.” Akira stretches and hums obnoxiously. “I’ll be okay out here. Help yourself to some water in the kitchen if you need it tonight. Go get some rest, sleeping beauty.”

Akechi can only click his tongue in annoyance on the way to the bedroom; it’s probably just his imagination, but he feels a pair of eyes hard set on his back as he leaves.

It’s easy to settle into the covers with a deep breath and glance out the window. The view of the city is beautiful all the way up here on the third floor. _So even a place like Shinjuku can be beautiful in the right light._ He squints, trying to read some of the neon signs towering overhead.

The moon wasn’t always this bright. No way. Akechi swears he can see more than ever before, more than the nights at the clinic where the white walls loom over his bed, stark and imprisoning despite Takemi’s attempts to make it livable. Here he sees every twist of the grain in Akira’s wooden walls, all the swirls of color in his marbled curtains. The hardcovers in his bookcase look like real books instead of muted background information. For once, he feels like he could reach out and touch something, and actually _feel_ it, interact with it like they were part of the same world. The gray canopy that always seems to hover around him wherever he goes doesn’t exist here. It makes way for the shimmer of stars beating down onto the comforter, and the sound of cicadas outside, and it stays away just long enough for Akechi to drift off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in months.

* * *

It must be around five in the morning when Akechi wakes up, half out of habit and uncomfortably chilled from rolling out of the blankets while he slept. Soft cawing and birdsong slips under the cracked-open bedroom window while he stretches.

Akira did offer free reign of the kitchen, so he quietly takes up that offer and creeps through the hallway that smells of cologne and burnt-away candles.

Light pours through the thin blinds in the living room. Akechi sneaks a look at the sleeping form curled on the couch, away from the television- which is still turned on, though it’s showing infomercials by this hour. Maybe it would be polite to turn it off. He rounds the coffee table and reaches for the remote tucked beside Akira’s thigh.

It takes one sharp inhale from under the blanket to freeze him in his tracks.

Akira is… panting? No, not quite panting, but drawing harsh, shaky breaths dotted with suspiciously desperate sounds that send a bright blush crawling up the length of Akechi’s neck.

 _No. No way. Did he not hear me come in?!_  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut, praying he won’t make any noise on the retreat that might alert Akira to his presence. Clearly this is a moment he doesn’t want to interrupt, and he hopes he’s completely wrong about that, but being right would just be an embarrassment for the first time in his life.  
  
Akechi listens for any sign of stirring as he backs up. For a moment, it seems like he’ll be in the clear, and then more sounds come, so light he almost doesn’t hear it. A quiet sniff, and something akin to a whine.

_He’s… crying?_

Admittedly, he isn’t sure if waking someone from a bad dream is wise, but his first instinct is to rustle Akira awake.

It seems like a good idea until the boy shoots upright and crushes his face into the cushions with a pained sob.

Akechi jerks back immediately. Akira is _shaking,_ so violently that it’s obvious even in the hazy fog of morning. The movement of his arms, closing in on himself, says he’s awake now, but he doesn’t look over. When Akechi sits down on the couch, he leans further away; when a hand reaches out to still his shoulder, he flinches with an audible hiss, face buried in his hands.  
  
“Akira…” Akechi purses his lips and waits for the boy to relax. Instead, his breathing grows shallow and high-pitched. “Hey, hey. It’s okay; it’s just me. _Breathe._ ”  
  
This proves to be a difficult task. Akechi reconsiders his attempts to reach out, pulling his hands back into his lap and waiting for Akira to calm down to a simmer. He isn’t sure what to say afterwards, especially while being stared down by two glazed silver eyes that seem to smolder with unasked questions.

The first choice is simply, “What are you doing out here?”  
  
Akechi feels exposed for the briefest moment. “I got up for water. I didn’t mean to wake you, but… it sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

Something indistinct flashes over Akira’s face. He looks to Akechi’s hands, to the remote, to the television. A pair of businesswomen stand at a presentation table lined with vegetables, testing a set of razor-sharp knives. The blue box in the upper left corner reads “MUTE.”

“Guess I hit the button on accident,” Akira says. “Tonight of all nights. Of course it’s the night you stay over.”

“What…?”

Akira whips a mass of tangled hair out of his eyes, pushing it back with a sigh. He unmutes the TV and then opts to turn it off altogether.

“This is pretty typical. Some nights, I get really bad dreams. I left the TV on hoping you wouldn’t hear me if I made any noise.”  
  
Akechi purses his lips. “Why would you bother hiding something like that? Do you think I’d judge you?”

“No. Just didn’t want you to worry.”  
  
“I’d worry less if I knew about it from the start.”

That kind of talk doesn’t really get them anywhere; Akira shrugs and stares at his lap, leaving Akechi to search his face for answers he doesn’t want to fish out.

“You know, I had nightmares a lot when I was first in foster care,” he admits. He chooses not to look at Akira’s reaction. “I was told it would help to talk about them, no matter how frightening or horrible they seemed. It helps you put them into words and send them out into the world, so they leave your mind through your lips.” He feels the advice of his caretakers mimicking itself in a desperate attempt to help. The silence seems promising, like a moment of contemplation, before Akira huffs out a laugh.

“If I tell you about them, I guarantee there will be judgment involved.”

It takes everything in Akechi’s being to keep from growing irritated. “Why?”

“Because you show up in all of them.”  
  
Now that gives him pause. Akira waits, clearly looking for any hint of apprehension, and admittedly it is buried there under years of well-rehearsed calm. Akira dreams about him. Dreams about him all the time. The chain of thought crosses into embarrassing territory before Akechi remembers one key detail.

They’re nightmares.

He doesn’t need more information, not really. Akira huffs through his nose once, a sound of displeasing suspicions being confirmed, before looking down at his hands.

“Usually you enter the interrogation room and go straight for me. I never hear you coming. By the time you open the door, it’s basically already over. I can't move; I can't talk to you. But I stopped having that dream for a while once I got used to it.”

Akechi frowns. “You stopped—”

“Until you came back. Now I wake up in bed with the gun right against my forehead.”

The room distorts as Akechi tries to process the confession. He wants to run, honestly. Run and never come back- not to the clinic, not to Akira, not to Tokyo period end. He wants to walk right off the map and disappear into nothing. Based on the way Akira watches him, that’s exactly what he expects. So he sits there and decides to be honest.

“You should stop letting me spend time with you.”

For some reason, Akira looks caught off guard by that. His forced rigidity cracks into a smile.

“If you left now, I really would never forgive you. We’re finally talking from the heart, aren’t we?”  
  
“God… your stupid romanticism really won’t do you any favors, Kurusu. I don’t know what makes you think I’ve changed.”

“Easy.” He presses a finger into Akechi’s chest. “If you were still trying to get your way, you wouldn’t waste time calling me stupid.”

The banter is playful, but Akechi doesn’t need to look much deeper to find the hurt in Akira’s every move. He’s still afraid, shaking ever so slightly, flinching when Akechi readjusts on the couch- the definition of false bravado to a trained eye. It’s almost enough to make him spill his guts in return. He remembers this from all those nights spent at Leblanc when Akira would talk over the counter with such fondness and consideration that it brewed up thoughts of _what if_ for the first time in forever. Those thoughts were threatening enough to be killed off instantly back then. Now, they’re warm and pulsing with life, tugging at the bars around Akechi’s heart.

He reaches out, refusing to shy away from Akira’s surprise, and removes his glasses.

“When I got home that night—… ” His throat locks, and it takes a solid ten seconds to recover. There’s no need to specify which ‘night’ he’s referring to. “I didn’t sleep at all. I didn’t sleep for three days, actually. I didn’t even eat. It’s terrifying to think about it now, but there was this fog of detachment carrying me through the end of it once I realized it was too late to go back. I felt like I was watching myself from across the room until the day I saw you again. After that, after everything in me snapped, you still offered your hand.”

Grey eyes flick back and forth between his own. Akechi fidgets.

“Words won’t make a difference, of course. I just need you to know that I’ve shown you what I really am. Hard to love. I’m not secretly soft on the inside the way your friends are. Nothing I say will convince you that I won’t hurt you. I can only prove it over time… I know that. But if you insist on having me around, knowing there isn’t any heart of gold hidden inside me, then I don’t have the right to deny you.”

He’s met with a smile that could outshine the stars.

“This is certainly a good start. I much prefer the honest version of you, anyway.”

Akechi fumbles for an excuse to hide his sudden flush. He hasn’t been pulled into a hug for comfort in quite some time, but that’s what he tries, straining to remember all the things his favorite caretakers did to pacify him. It feels insincere and mechanical when he does it, like he just doesn’t belong so close to another person, but Akira melts into his shoulder without hesitation.  
  
One day, he promises himself, he'd like to tell Akira everything. Every detail from day one of this whole mess. That would require his own acceptance of the trip wires laced under his feet when he was striving for the upper hand, feeling clever for smiling at Shido's face while gripping a knife behind his back, but tonight it would all sound like excuses instead of stories. One day it would make sense to spill his guts, and the thought calms the lightning in his nerves as he holds Akira close.

The feeling gradually descends into a gentle sleepiness before Akira speaks up.  
  
“I was thinking about something last night.”  
  
“And what would that be?”  
  
“Well… it’s just odd how you think you’re everybody’s last resort. Because I’m pretty sure I’m everybody’s first.”

Akechi freezes up and wishes he didn’t know why. “How do you mean?”  
  
“First friend at school. First person who really listened. First boyfriend, for a month or two.”

Akechi doesn’t exhale just yet.

“First time sleeping with someone.”

And there it is. Fuck.  
  
“They take and take and never give back. It makes me wonder if I’m a person at all… or just a lesson for people to learn. Maybe a better way to put it would be ‘test run.’ I’m everybody’s test run.”  
  
Akira draws into himself even tighter. He doesn’t look so weaponized anymore. Rather, he seems tired, weighed down by some inexplicable stress. Still, his will of steel holds the same determination as always… right? They lock eyes, and for the first time in a long time, it  
truly does feel like a mee t i n g  
o  f   t  h  e  
m  i nds. Akira blinks once, refocusing. So this is the power of the makeshift “bond” they’d formed from opposite sides of the partition back then. The only one he’d lost just as quickly.  
  
Akira hadn’t noticed before how his old “rival” looks so porcelain now, with his long chestnut hair tied back in a green band, worry lines faint as he frowns. Of course he never had a chance with this superficial crush; the boy wasn’t a television star for nothing. If Akira wasn’t shivering like a wounded animal, withering under his gaze, perhaps now would be a good time to speak up. Maybe in another lifetime.

They turn the TV back on and let some time pass by the glow of the sunrise as grey clouds knit together again, until the screen is full of overzealous morning talk shows and Akira feels his eyelids getting heavy, feels his lungs taking in breath a bit more easily. He lets himself lean onto Akechi’s shoulder out of pure exhaustion.

To his surprise, the brunette wraps an arm around him and guides them both down gently, coaxing Akira into his chest.

_Something physical in return, huh._

Akechi’s hands tremble as they hold him tentatively. Shivers jump between their skin, likely because the ex-detective is far frailer than he used to be, but Akira feels the urge to let him soak up all the heat- to share more and more until he has nothing left to give, just to see what happens.  
  
Akechi is so soft against his side. Akira falls just short of crushing the urge to pull him closer by the loose fabric of his own shirt; the dawn-chilled apartment keeps his breathing at a hollow, whispered plea for warmth. Goodness knows he deserves it for once in his life.

“Akechi… turn to me for a second.”  
  
He obeys, and _oh,_ Akira didn’t anticipate wanting to kiss him this badly. He wants to borrow the cherry-red fire in his eyes and trace it all down his body through his own fingertips. He _still_ wants to see every inch of perfect silver skin, wants to ruin it like a true delinquent until it’s completely covered in bruises and moonlight.

But he doesn’t. He settles for the fantasy, watching Akechi watch him, until he frowns.  
  
“Do you need something?”  
  
“…No.” It’s partly the truth, mostly a lie. “Do you?”  
  
The drag of fresh pattering rain is enough to drive him crazy if this boy doesn’t manage it first.  
  
“I’m not sure yet.”

The rain continues to echo in his empty head until a mutter of his name breaks through it again. He looks up, smile faint and weak. Akechi audibly grinds his teeth.

“I just… Kurusu, you’re too good for this rotten world. I don’t understand it.” He risks sliding a bit closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I could go insane trying to protect you from it.”

The spark that crackles between them makes Akira close his eyes. His heartbeat is going crazy, and there’s no way in hell Akechi can’t feel it. He prays that it gets chalked up to anxiety.

“I know,” he whispers. “But you already proved that, and I almost lost you. You can protect me by staying just as you are.”  
  
Akechi nods, but it’s doubtful, unfocused.

Eventually he moves onto his back, trying to give them both space to breathe, and Akira _despises_ the cold feeling that spreads through his chest just before Akechi reaches for the throw blanket and lets them readjust. It’s not right. It shouldn’t feel so perfect to be tangled up with this boy on his tiny couch, wishing he had the nerve to ask if they could move to the bed and let things go from there- whatever that would entail.

It takes every last bit of his energy, but Akira lets the chorus of morning drown it all away.

* * *

Their afternoon trip back to Takemi’s feels charged with nervous energy. Even so, Akira knows there’s a good chance it’s all coming from him. They stop for coffee and breakfast sandwiches on the way, and the fuss Akechi puts up over Akira paying for it makes him laugh so hard his cheeks hurt.

They beat a second wind of rain just as the clouds begin to break above the clinic in Yongen-Jaya. Takemi perks up when they enter, accepting her extra-large mocha and ushering them right back outside again.

“I hope you won’t mind me checking on your progress, Akechi-kun, since—” She laughs when he huffs indignantly. “—Aw, don’t be like that. If you do well I planned on clearing you for new exercises. I’m sure you’d like to use a rock wall again soon, hm?”

That promise brightens them both up a bit, though for Akira’s part he’s just happy to see Akechi’s face glow with hope. He wonders how long he went without something to look forward to before they met.

The nearby park is empty, and Akechi gets changed into the clothes Takemi packed while she stands in the shade of a large tree to type notes into her tablet. Akira tries not to feel disappointed when Akechi discards his borrowed shirt for a more suitable tank top- although, seeing how far he’s come toning his arms up until now, maybe this view isn’t so bad either.

Akechi puts his trainers on quietly, and Akira decides chatting would be more comfortable than staring like an idiot.

“Thank you for last night.” Akira notices his odd expression and elaborates. “For staying with me. I didn’t think you would.”

“Why?” Akechi’s tone is clipped as he stands up, but there isn’t any malice in his eyes, although he sure doesn’t seem to like being scrutinized like this. He whips around, and Akira can barely make out the words while he walks away.

“I should get to my warmups. I’ll see you later.”

Takemi finally catches up, scribbling in her workbook. They watch him head straight for the bars.  
  
“Gone already,” she notes.

“Are you really surprised?”  
  
“No. But it’s interesting.” She sits down on the hill; Akira follows suit. “I’ve overseen a few recovery programs in the past, and for the most part, they need to be revamped for the patient. There’s always at least one aspect they can’t handle. Can’t follow a sleep schedule because of young kids, can’t follow a meal plan because of dietary restrictions… but Akechi just wrote it all down and took off. Physical tasks are the most common ball to drop. He never once complained.”  
  
Akira shrugs. “I do know he’s into a few sports- that is, he used to be. Bouldering and all that. What surprises me more is how he’s trying so hard to stick to your ‘even exchange’ idea. Seems a bit emotionally demanding.”

Takemi widens her eyes at him, about to speak, but not quite finding the words. She turns back to observe Akechi powering through the last few pull-ups, sweat glinting off the silver bar.

“That isn’t even part of his exercises.”

Akira snorts. “What? How did he come up with that himself?”  
  
“Well, it’s not that I _didn’t_ suggest it. I mentioned it maybe once, in passing. The idea was to incorporate it at a later date, once he’s a bit more stable overall. Working and resting, interacting with others regularly, all of that. I suppose…” She lifts a hand to her chin. “He must have seen value in starting now. I wonder why.”

“Akechi’s pretty stubborn. He’d never admit if things got to be too much.”

She laughs, loud and cutting. “You’re telling me. He tore a muscle more than once in the beginning and thought I wouldn’t figure it out. The boy’s a paragon of overachievement.” Her tone softens then. “I’m grateful for that. When he first showed up, I wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t talk for a month. Didn’t read or watch television like he does now, either. Just stared out the window and slept. It was like he was waiting for something.”

_Waiting for something to give._

It takes Akira a while to notice, but Takemi is studying him now. He just smiles nervously- and she returns it, but with a little more all-too-familiar mischief.

“Say, guinea pig. Could you test a little hypothesis of mine, for old time’s sake?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter is coming up, and it will be about twice as long as this one, since it contains all the Good Content >:3c


	3. spirit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now to deliver the goods >:}

“This is your surprise? A bar?”  
  
Akira stands in a grand pose in the entryway to Crossroads, blinded by the colorful street lamps as Akechi looms darkened and unimpressed in front of them.

“Okay, yeah. This is where I work.” His arms flop down, dejected. “Hence why I’m usually free in the daytime instead of at night.”  
  
“Do you really think _drinking_ is a good way to celebrate my progress?”

“No! No, no. I’m not sure I can even sneak a drink to you while I’m on the clock.” Akira beckons him over to a poster taped up next to the door. “We have a charity event tonight and all the proceeds go to a local cause. I’ll be performing, and I thought you might like to meet a few of my friends and watch the show.”  
  
“You’re performing?” Akechi inspects the poster, frowning. “This doesn’t say much about what sort of performance you’re putting on.”

“Well, yeah.” Akira shrugs. “Gotta keep the main event a secret, although I can promise it’s basically just a night of mindless fun. I know it doesn’t sound like much… but I hope you’ll give it a try.”

Akechi is entirely skeptical, but he eventually surrenders to whatever pathetic pleading look Akira puts on. Already he’s impatient to celebrate this recent collection of victories with a drink or two, assuming he can out-charm Lala tonight.  
  
When they get inside, Crossroads is already crowded with patrons and coworkers half-dressed in their show costumes. He takes Akechi’s hand and pulls him over to the bar, easing him into a seat with the promise of something to drink once he can slip under all the watchful eyes. The brunette is clearly uncomfortable, and clearly out of place in a plain turtleneck and cardigan, but he focuses on the tiny TV behind the countertop and appears to relax a bit when Lala comes over to exchange kind words with both of them.

“I’m already running a bit late, but I’ll try to come say hi before we start,” Akira says. Satisfied with Akechi’s nod, he lets Lala guide him into the back room and entrust him to a coworker with countless boxes of supplies.

He can barely keep from twitching at all the immediate attention lavished on his eyes and lips; the girl, Kora, promises it will be worth it, coos at what a good job she’s doing. Akira just chuckles and holds his breath for the final result.

This will be the first time he’s let her go all out, since none of their practice performances required full dress. Maybe Akechi won’t recognize him. Maybe he won’t even recognize himself. He gets lost in thought until a squeal announces that she’s finally done.

“Look at you! Oh my gawd, I didn’t think you’d be so sexy like this. Lily should’ve come back here to watch.”  
  
“What…?” Akira squints. “Are you messing with me?”  
  
“Uh, I think not. See for yourself.”

She’s about to reach back for a mirror, giggling, when Lala bursts through the door.

“You two are taking forever! Everyone else is already on stage!” His boss waves them out frantically. “Chop chop, get moving, come on, let’s _go._ ”  
  
Akira doesn’t get a glimpse of Akechi in the mass of people, and hardly gets the gist of what magic Kora worked on him as they clamber up the steps. His sleeves flow back and forth, promising to catch on anything with a sharp point. So it’s a kimono-style top, then. That’s bold. And perhaps a little worrying.

He gets into position and turns his back to the audience, taking one more deep breath in the darkness. For all he knows, this is about to be his worst humiliation ever.

When the lights come up, he finally sees himself in the glass stage backdrop, and all the worry melts away.

A spiral of black hair drapes over his shoulders, done up with a lotus pin that matches the patterns dotting the rest of the outfit. The sleeves dip past his waist and shine with ribbon accents that appear to swim throughout the fabric of the top, with a long skirt open at one knee… and the makeup nearly makes him pass out, so sharp and heavy that he looks like a completely new person. Man, he really owes Kora an expensive dinner as soon as possible.

He spins with a line of performers who certainly don’t look half this good, or so he hopes, waiting to see if he can fish out the eyes he wants from the giant crowd. With the stage lights glittering all around him, it’s hard to see past the first row, but… surely Akechi is watching. He needs to move like he’s _positive_ Akechi is watching.

The tails of the kimono whip around his middle with every swaying motion. He watches himself twist deliberately in the reflection of the backdrop when the line turns around, like he’s observing someone entirely different. Someone far more seductive. _God,_ Akechi would look so good in this… or perhaps something even more suited to the tempting curve of his hips, something nice and tight to show off his perfect ass. Crossroads wasn’t necessarily that kind of place, but he’d pay anything for a private show from him. Maybe a bit of Akechi’s cheap shot back when they first had dinner could act as inspiration after all. The mental image of being shoved against an alley wall in Shinjuku where anyone could turn and look, with a gorgeous ex-detective prince all dolled up against him, fingers snarled in his hair, tongue slick and sweet with flowery alcohol—

 _Jesus Christ, focus. What the fuck is wrong with me?_  
  
He renews the attention Lala’s choreography deserves. Even if Akechi stepped out and missed it all, this is an important night; it’s the first night he’s allowed to let go like this, in a room full of people who are all the same as him in one way or another. He keeps his mind on the effort they put into every last step. By the time he’s breathless and disheveled, he opens his senses to a sea of applause.  
  
As much as he wants to hop right down and accept all the kisses and dances surely awaiting him, Akira chooses to slip away with everyone else and make a beeline for his phone in the dressing room.

He's met with a handful of missed texts.  
  
**Akechi Goro** [10:08 P.M.] _Hello. Have you gone backstage yet? Two girls just introduced themselves as your friends. Apparently they want me to dance with them.  
_**Akechi Goro** [10:11 P.M. ] _The one girl- I think her name is Lily- started calling me “Goro-chan” all of a sudden. Not sure what to say.  
_**Akechi Goro** [10:19 P.M.] _Your friends ran to the back room but they haven’t returned so I’m sitting at the bar again. A lot of people seem excited when I say I’m here with you. You must be a fan favorite.  
_**Akechi Goro** [10:24 P.M.] _The lights just dimmed but_ _I don’t know where I should be standing for this. Everybody has glow sticks and I have no idea where they got them.  
_**KORA (: <3 **[10:25 P.M.] _AKIRa YOUFORGOT YOUR STOCKINGS IN THE DRESSING ROOM COME BAKC PLZ  
_**Akechi Goro** [10:27 P.M.] _Will the flashlight on my phone suffice?_  

The texts really start pouring in around the time he went on stage.  
  
**KORA (: <3 **[10:31 P.M.] _ok nvm about the stockings._ _lily says u dont even need them LOL. leggy boi  
_**KORA (: <3 **[10:33 P.M.] _YOUR BOYFRIEND IS ABSOLUTELY SCARLET WE ARE SO ALIVE RIGHT NOW  
_**KORA (: <3 **[10:33 P.M.] _sorry—boyfriend (???)*  
_**KORA (: <3 **[10:34 P.M.] _ahahah i think he realizes i’m leaking top secret info ;) u didn’t hear it from me  
_**Lily!!!** [10:38 P.M.] _Your legs are dangerous dude I hate u so much_  
**Lily!!!** [10:39 P.M.] _If youre dating this Akechi kid I hope ya planned on getting destroyed when u get home tonight. Hes like slouched in the bar chair biting the living hell out of his fingers  
_**KORA (: <3 **[10:42 P.M.] _if my makeup gets you laid you are taking me to HIBACHI ROYAL do u understand me???_

The string ends with a final brief message from Akechi, oddly a touch less polished than usual.

 **Akechi Goro** [10:46 P.M.] _ill be waiting near the bar with your friends_

As promised, he finds them easily. Akechi sips on a glass of water, scrolling through an article on his phone while the girls chat back and forth, bursting into squeals and flying hugs once Akira catches their attention.

“Oh my GAWD, you were so adorable! I wanted to die when you guys did the kick line. They didn’t tell me that was a thing.” Kora swipes a thumb over the wing of his eyeliner to even it out. “Oh, and Goro-chan is fucking hilarious, by the way. You have competition in the freestyle dance scene.”  
  
“Actually, though.” Lily crosses her arms, but her smile is playful. “I really don’t appreciate you having friends cooler than me.”

“You’re too flattering.” Akechi glances over, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

“No, I’m serious!” Kora drapes an arm around him, producing an involuntary flinch. Akira just grimaces. “You have a certain _je ne sais quoi_ … whatever that means.”  
  
“Kora, don’t be an idiot. Just say what you mean in plain language.”

“Actually…” Akechi clears his throat. “ _Je ne sais quoi_ means ‘I don’t know what.’”

Kora looks at him for a long moment before laughing.

“See, Lily, I’m not an idiot; he doesn’t know what it means either!”

“Oookay, we’re gonna head onto the floor before things start winding down,” Akira says. He pulls Akechi by the wrist, calling for the girls to keep an eye on their things before offering an apologetic look to his guest. “Sorry. I know they’re… a lot to handle.”  
  
Akechi shrugs without really looking up.  
  
They reach the center of the fray thanks to everyone parting left and right for a dressed-up Akira, but Akechi looks so supremely awkward that Akira has to try a few silly, dramatic twirls to encourage him. Still, fidgeting is the only response he gets.

He’s about to say something until he feels a tap on his back and spins around to see a regular customer, clearly hammered, trying to lure him into what is already very sloppy dance. He timidly shakes his head, but quickly notices that the guy is _really_ persistent. He reaches over and grips Akira’s arm, slurred words tinged with the metallic odor of beer.  
  
“C’mon, gorgeous. Who knows when we’ll get to see you like this again—”  
  
The man’s smirk quickly drops into apprehension when he peeks past Akira’s shoulder. Without a second to piece everything together, he’s tugged backwards and crushed into the soft material of Akechi’s cardigan.  
  
“Sorry. You’ll have to find somebody else.”  
  
The brunette’s voice is absolute _gravel,_ and Akira wishes he could crane his neck far enough to see whatever god-forsaken expression made the patron flee without any argument. He can’t think about that for long when Akechi strokes down the sleeves of the kimono and rests trembling hands on his hips, sighing out the tension while Akira stays blind and breathless.

_Oh. Thank God he’s the one holding me like this and not the other way around._

Normally Akira would picture the perfect moment a little differently. Perhaps a nice dinner on a late autumn night, gentle music and a table by the window overlooking the trees changing color outside.

That’s nowhere near the moment they’re in right now. No, somehow, this scene feels even more perfect: letting loose on the dance floor, covered in perfume and sweat, tucked in a crowd of people getting increasingly inebriated in a fog of vodka and incense. Apparently Akechi feels bold enough to let his hands wander, and they skate up Akira’s sides, pulling him back and pressing them even closer together.

The jolt of heat turns to a cyclone in his core. He wants to grind down so _badly,_ just to see how Akechi would react. The arms snaked around his middle are already tight and possessive enough to make Akira subtly move his hands against the iron lock, trying to encourage Akechi to slide down further, praying he shifts them into a more enticing position on accident.

Instead, Akechi lets go entirely- only to cage Akira’s waist, sinking fingertips into sharp hipbones and leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

“You really mess with my head, Kurusu.”  
  
Akira feels a devilish grin part his glossy lips. He could just laugh out loud.

A sudden pulse of pressure against his ass is there and gone so quickly, he’s convinced he imagined it.

“You shouldn’t smile when I say that. It wasn’t a compliment, you know?”  
  
“Aha, you’re right.” Akira pouts over his shoulder in a bid for forgiveness. “Can’t help myself. We’re probably both a little tipsy, now that I think about—”   
  
He gasps as Akechi digs his fingers deeper.

“Liar.” The word is so full of intent, so warm against the shell of his ear, it brings on a full-body shiver. “I never even touched that drink since your friends were so eager for my attention. And I _know_ you’ve been backstage the entire time you were gone. Perfecting your little outfit, I presume.”  
  
It’s too much. The risk of fucking up is so unbearably worthless that Akira disregards it completely, shimmying his waist down with a firm grip on Akechi’s arms, putting on the most saccharine character voice when he sees the boy looking like he’s two seconds from breaking.

“You’d be right, honey. This little number is a magnet for sweethearts like you. I can’t afford to have word get around, but if you can keep a secret, I might just let you take me home.”

Admittedly, it sounds pretty ridiculous in his own ears. Customers lose their minds over that kind of talk which really puts it in the mental territory of performance and false personas, but wow, does it feel _good_ coaxing that barely-audible hiss from between Akechi’s teeth with one indulgent line.  
  
It doesn’t take more than a couple well-timed movements to get Akechi glancing desperately towards the front entrance. Akira would rather drop dead than stay here and let them both wind tighter until one of them snaps, so he has a little mercy and gently guides his guest through the sea of people in one smooth flourish. Their things are still on the bar by Lala, but Lily and Kora are gone. Whatever. They would understand; the promise of Hibachi Royal should earn him free ghosting passes for a year at least.

They’re so close to being home free- right at the corner where they’d turn down the road for the apartment and vanish from sight- when a holler reaches Akira’s ears.

_You’re joking. Please don’t let this happen right now._

He tries to keep the majority of his face in shadow while looking back for the source, but the street lamps do him no favors judging by the tipsy young man barreling out of the crowd towards them, and… yeah, this guy was calling for him.

“Kurusu! You were AWESOME up there tonight.” He approaches, arms outstretched and just a little too friendly for a… stranger? Akira backs up a bit.

“Uh, sorry, I don’t—”  
  
“Nah dude, it’s okay!” He grins, all teeth. “Taro Takeda.”

Apparently Akira’s silence speaks volumes, because the guy laughs and slaps a hand on his shoulder.

“Haha, you probably wouldn’t remember me. We talked a few times at the Shujin-Kaisei sports fest. Don’t worry, I know I’m not that memorable; I couldn’t forget the Shujin delinquent, though. Showed up like a thief in the night and disappeared without a trace. Damn, nobody at Kaisei ever followed any bullshit from Shujin until they heard about you. And now you’re a drag queen? No judgment. I think it’s fuckin’ legendary, to be honest.”  
  
Over the past few years, Akira has learned to pick his battles wisely. It wasn’t worth debating with people who wanted to believe they had all the information. He didn’t see the harm in letting them go on thinking they were the kings of ancient high school gossip. When it happens to his face, though, he finds it harder to bite everything back.

The attention doesn’t last long enough for him to craft a response, because Takeda has already moved onto scrutinizing Akechi.

“Hey, wait a minute. Do I know you from somewhere too? You look seriously familiar.” He pinches his chin and squints. Then he shakes his head, needlessly wistful.

“Nah, I’m probably just losing my mind. Shit gets wild when you graduate high school.” He glances down at an extravagant wristwatch just as Akira realizes there’s a thick aura of something brutally wrong here. “Speaking of which, it’s past my bedtime. Got an exam this week so I can’t stay out, but Kurusu, we should chill again soon if we bump into each other. You can bring more of your friends or whatever.” He salutes them and jogs to a taxi idling near the curb. “Stay lit, you fuckin’ animals!”  
  
Akira scoffs under his breath as the taxi pulls away. Taro Takeda. The name doesn’t bring back any memories in particular, but the conversation still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He’s already set to apologize for the rowdiness of Crossroads regulars yet _again._ Lily and Kora are one thing, but when some of these guests start drinking—

“Have you figured it out, too?”  
  
Akira turns around.

The empty horror on Akechi’s face flash-freezes his blood into ice.  
  
In an instant, he has figured it out, but doesn’t dare say it out loud. He makes a deliberately mild guess instead.

“…Have you two met before…?”  
  
“Takeda was in my class.” Akechi’s voice shakes as he picks the right words. “He was in the student council. He always lent me notes for the lessons I missed. And he doesn’t remember who I am.”  
  
Akechi turns to the main road. Every inkling of bravado chips away, crashing into bits on the concrete, fizzling out right alongside the spark from earlier. He can’t even be bothered to wipe at the tears once they start spilling over.  
  
“So that’s it. Erasure really was my price in the end.”  
  
  
  
A gust of wind muddies the jovial sounds from inside Crossroads and whips Akira’s hairpiece into a mess. He reaches up to unclip it, stuffing it in the costume bag and taking out his glasses instead.  
  
“I guess I might as well admit it. Do you know what I decided to do if this ended up being the case?” Akechi’s smile is distant and hollow. “I decided I’d kill myself.”

His words lack drama in the most unsettling way. He continues on so casually, Akira almost doesn’t process the admission, watching him talk at the road like the two of them aren’t even having a conversation.

“It was a pretty solid idea, actually. I’d know how to get into the police station unnoticed and find a pistol. I know where the back door is, and where to go if I need a quiet place where nobody else will be bothered.”  
  
Akira’s mind is a train wreck full of things to say, but he still manages to fall flat.  
  
“Nothing would change.”  
  
And he instantly feels stupid when Akechi lets out a mirthless, barking laugh.

“What, then? Anything goes? I never wanted to live in a world like that. So I planned for it all. I planned for everything except you.” His stare is completely withering. “You might think you're everyone's 'first,' Kurusu, but no matter how I look at it, you were never mine."

“…Oh,” Akira whispers. Which, admittedly, is a pretty weak way to ask _‘what the fuck does that mean.’_

The conversation wasn’t supposed to go like this. The coy back-and-forth, the “accidental” proximity they should be sharing in a booth back inside… Akira doesn’t understand where he went wrong.

“Just when I think I’m free, there you are. Everywhere I turn. You screwed it all up. _Twice,_ ” Akechi continues, stepping towards Akira, who suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious in this outfit. “If you hadn’t, I’d be long gone.”  
  
“Goro—”

“No. Listen.” Akechi shakes his head, the use of his first name having derailed his train of thought. “You were always my last chance, Akira Kususu. Now I’m expected to stand here and ask you to do that all over again. I never wanted you to know any of this, and yet here I am, spilling my guts… honestly, who even am I anymore?”

The way Akechi seems to relish the newfound insanity of this situation, despite the gravity, would be so unnerving if Akira didn’t share the feeling.

“Should I tell you the rest and get it over with?”

“…If that’s what you need.”

“Then I want to be transparent from now on. Even if it disgusts you, knowing how fucked up I am. Just respond as you see fit.” Akechi glances up, eyes vapid. “I’m not really sure what’s appropriate anymore, since you and I… well, we’ve always had a strange sort of relationship, don’t you think?”

Akira swallows thickly. He tries to extinguish the glimmer of desire seeping into his words.

“Did we?”

He definitely fails.

“Maybe. But I liked it. So maybe it was just something I wanted.”  
  
Silence. Akechi gives a pained smirk, like he’s resigning to whatever is breaking inside him.

“I wanted you.” His voice is somber. “I hated how much I did. What right do I have to want you?” It cracks. “To even think about you that way, when you deserve so much better? And now, I…” Cracks again.

“Now?”  
  
“It’s worse. Every time I look at you, see you smiling at me, not just _tolerating_ me, but… almost looking like you’re happy to be here. You’d wake up from a nightmare _I_ caused, and still smile at me. I really must be poisoning you.”

“…I’ve felt poisoned many times. I know what it’s like.” Akira considers it for a moment, then reaches over to intertwine their fingers; he notices the slightest flinch, but it would feel so wrong letting go. “I’m not worried about feeling poisoned with you.”

“That’s fucking absurd. I never had much to offer in the first place, but now…”

He starts backing up, but Akira snatches his wrist. “You sound sure of yourself,” he hisses. “Why don’t you ask what I think about it?”

Akechi sets his jaw. Exhales, and rekindles that stupid contrary look.

“If you have something to say, please just say it outright.”

“Okay, I guess that’s fair.” Akira tightens his grip. “Then I just want to note how willfully _ignorant_ you are, for an ex-detective.”

He earns a furious glare for that, but it quickly smooths away when their eyes meet, much closer together now than they were a moment ago.

“You can’t keep pretending not to notice—” Akira digs his nails into the back of Akechi’s hand. “—how much I want you, too.” 

All the color drains from Akechi’s face in a split second. Akira wants so badly to put that color right back.

“You want me to be upfront as well? Because our night of ‘mindless fun’ isn’t exactly over yet,” he whispers. “So I would really like it… if you let me offer _you_ something physical for a change.”

* * *

 It’s a short trip back to the apartment and up to his bedroom, but it feels like an eternity. Akira doesn’t waste any time, coaxing Akechi onto the bed and waiting until he’s comfortable, climbing over him, giving him that electric proximity, not enough to feel suffocated but just enough to feel protected. At this point he’s down to makeup and the thin black shirt and pants from under his costume; there’s no time to consider removing anything else that isn’t a final layer of clothing.

He’s sure it’s smooth sailing from here until Akechi stops any further movements with a firm hand and searching eyes. He waits a tentative moment, then speaks.

“Promise me you’re not doing this out of pity. Thinking it’ll fix me.”

Akira almost laughs out loud. “You give me way too much credit. You’ll find I’m pretty selfish myself. Who knows? Maybe this will fix _me_ instead. Exposure to all—of your—supposed ‘poison,’ right?” He punctuates each pause with soft bites at tender skin. “And besides…” He presses a kiss into Akechi’s pulse, gently, just enough to register the thunder. “I don’t think you need to be fixed.”

_Rather…  
You need to be taken apart._

In a way, he already was. But he insisted on living with those bindings on tight, arms wrapped around himself, never really letting the damage show.

Akira kisses him with every intention of tearing those walls down. Akechi doesn’t need them here. He needs to let those strings unwind, to tilt into the kiss and open his mouth just a little more- _that’s it_ \- he needs to stop strangling every sweet sound threatening to rip its way out of his throat. A bit of persistence, maybe. A bit of pressure on his hips as Akira rests flush against him, sinking them into the warmth of the blankets until they both teeter on the edge of surrender.

 _You need to see those pieces. Work out how they fit back together.  
_ _Work it all out with me._

It turns out those pieces don’t look familiar to Akechi at all when he tries regaining composure. He pants, fingers curled back into the sheets, such a perfect picture it’s almost comical. He’s way out of his element and saying nothing to put a stop to it.

Instead, he’s threading his fingers into Akira’s hair and pulling him back down, no longer hesitating at the feeling of a tongue hot against his.

The taste of wintergreen and coffee spreads through his mouth, his head, his heart. It’s a taste Akira desperately wants to get used to.

God, he doesn’t know how he lasted so long without this.  
  
_I don’t even need to guide your hand… you want it more than you let on.  
__I’d bet anything you’ve practiced this a thousand times before. In your idle daydreams, in your moments of weakness… I know.  
__I do it too._

Akira pulls back, barely, pushing the heel of his hand against Akechi’s arousal, vision swimming as he tries to immortalize every splash of indignity and pleasure that slips into his expression. _Blissed out-_ is that the phrase? He doesn’t know why, but that’s the only sensible thought in his head right now.  
  
He mouths pointedly at heated skin. “I hope you realize I expect to see you fall apart for me tonight.”

Akira only gets a quiet moan in response as a distinct wetness cools on his palm. It would be so _easy_. Way too easy to finish the ex-detective off just like this.

Akechi seems to sense this through the persistent touches. His hand snaps down, capturing Akira’s wrist and using the tension of shock to shove him backwards.

“Not yet,” he whispers, and that’s enough to make Akira return to kisses, chuckling softly against the other’s lips and savoring the taste. He bites against his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, all down his chest- a mark for every night of sleep Akira lost wishing this exact situation would stop being an empty fantasy that never truly satisfied.

“Akira, you don’t—” The brunette sighs, and tries again. “You’re allowed to be a little rougher, you know.”

He stops immediately, looking up through hooded lashes.

“Hmm? You’ll have to clarify, if there’s something you want.”

“I know… I know. You’re right.” Akechi’s voice tapers off with a strained whimper as the two readjust. Akira can’t help but nip and suck at his neck lazily as he struggles to find the appropriate words.  
  
“I… spent a long time feeling like the whole world should belong to me. I still find myself thinking in that vein sometimes. So, I...”

Akira hums, both in affirmation and curiosity. He’s gently detached from his ministrations, guided up until he’s centimeters from Akechi’s lips.

“I want to know what it feels like… to belong to someone else for once. Someone who deserves it.”

Akira thinks his veins could catch fire from those words alone. He reaches blindly over to the nightstand and digs in the open drawer before pulling out a small bottle and snapping it open, making sure Akechi is offering his full attention before he starts to coat his fingers in the cool gel.

“Is this going to be enough?”

Akechi nods feverishly, and relishes countless hot, wet kisses all the while. He makes a single surprised noise when Akira reaches down to work him open, using his other hand to stroke through his hair in a soothing rhythm, and practically bites down on his tongue when those fingers curl and brush against the sweet spot nestled deep inside.

It’s too much fun for Akira to unwrap and taint Akechi like this, but it’s too difficult to spend his patience on drawing out the moment. He shifts up to beg silently for a few more messy kisses, sliding his fingers out and slicking himself up with the remaining gel warming in his palm. The spark crackling between them explodes into fireworks when the length of him slides inside. All his inner monologuing sifts away until the only thing left is a rolling echo of _finally, finally, finally_.

Oh, it’s really not going to be a good look for either of them tomorrow if Akira gets as rough as he wants. He feels the ghost of something around his throat, something much more sinister than Arsene or even Loki could ever be. His teeth could cut through diamonds; that much is obvious, given the shrill moan Akechi gives as Akira decorates his neck further.

“You want to belong to someone?” He hisses, and feels Akechi shiver violently under him. “You don’t need to tell me that. You’ve always wanted to belong to me. The minute you realized I could see right through you… and best you, and hurt you just the way you like it, if you would only _ask…_ well, it was over for you, wasn’t it?”

“A-Akira, I—”  
  
His pulse thunders at his given name.

“Tell me what you need, _Goro._ ”  
  
“I…” Akechi’s face is pure heat and embarrassment. He clenches his fists until the knuckles go white. “I just told you.”

“Ah, but we’ve been over this before, haven’t we? I’m not very good at listening. If you want me to do as you say… you’ll _really_ have to beg for it. Loud and clear, so even a delinquent like me understands exactly— what— you— need,” he says, fingers tapping across the outside of the brunette’s thigh.

Akechi’s eyes dart all over his face, trying to keep his panting quiet. He fails at a particularly earnest thrust.  
  
“I don’t want to forget this,” he whispers. “I want to remember. Every time I look in the mirror, for as long as possible, I want to see your mark on me.”

Akira bites down on his lip, swallowing hard. He could honestly cum just from hearing that.

“If you stay, you’ll never have to forget. You can sleep in my clothes, in my bed… wearing nothing but a sweater and those tight black shorts, because I fucking _know_ you’ve been doing that on purpose—” He just grins at the blaze on Akechi’s cheeks. “—oh, I’m sure you could feel me staring. I’d never need to think of anything but that when I miss you. Until I get the real thing, of course.”

Akira rakes his nails down Akechi’s chest. Such a treasure, untouched by anybody else, so willingly giving in under him. God, he’s perfect. He leans down to feel their pulses beating erratically, as if he’d be able to tell from that alone whether Akechi is feeling the pleasure he’d requested.

His broken whines are good enough. The more Akira listens, the more he turns up the intensity of his words, the closer he draws to finishing himself. His breathing evens out. Not yet, not yet.

“Show me where you want your marks, then,” he says.

Akechi seems to think for a moment, blinking through the lust and processing the question as best as he can. Finally, he cranes his neck, already colored with a small handful of love bites.

Akira’s smirk borders on sadistic.  
  
“Oh? You want more here?” He presses his fingers into the sides of Akechi’s throat, squeezing with surprising reverence. “So there’s no mistaking it, huh? You won’t be able to hide them all when I’m done with you, you know?”

Akechi nods frantically, eyes cast to the side. His attention is brought back to Akira with a soft touch under his chin.

“Let’s make you even more beautiful, then.” He lets the pace dip into something more languid and intimate, watching the rise and fall of Akechi’s chest as he pants harder. “How about a collar? A nice little memento of the night you became mine?” Akira traces a line against his neck, offering a preview.

The whimper he gets in response puts him to work immediately. Akechi’s skin is gorgeously shimmery with a mix of sweat and Akira’s borrowed perfume. He notices, without much real attention, that Akechi’s scent alone is enough to make him involuntarily bite down harder as his heart pounds, drinking in every kiss, every soothing swipe of his tongue.

A few minutes later he pulls away to inspect his work. The bruises circle around the brunette’s neck in a nearly perfect ring. He strokes the back of his fingers across them and leans in.  
  
“Does that feel nice?” He coos.

“Mmn… sore… but it’s good.”

“I bet. You know you can have more anytime you like.” He watches the twinkle in Akechi’s gaze as he lets his eyes open halfway, exhausted from the pleasure already. “As long as you don’t forget who you belong to… and of course, that person would be…?”  
  
“You.” Akechi loops his arms around Akira’s back, seemingly to get a better grip on reality as he loses focus once again.  
  
“And you love me with all your heart.”

He nearly lets a chuckle slip into the tail end of that. Of course it’s risky to rustle Akechi like this, and he might even earn a slap to the face for it later, but gambling for a cute reaction might be worth—

“Yes.”

For a moment, Akira’s racing thoughts power down.

“…What?”

Akechi opens his eyes with renewed energy and meets Akira’s next thrust with a dangerous smirk.

“Ha. Did you already forget how to _listen_?”

_Oh._

_Oh fucking hell._

He leans against Akechi’s forehead and pets his hair gently, slowing his hips.  
  
“S-shit… Goro, I’m gonna—"

“Good, just… keep going, I— _fuck,_ please don’t pull back like that. _Please._ ”

Akira’s mind goes blank. It’s not wise to take orders from Goro Akechi. Akira knows this. He knows, and yet, this is the one exception. He lets the brunette lock him in with thighs way too strong for their own good, feels a twist in his stomach so powerful that it nearly brings him to tears. It doesn’t matter. He can feel the hammering of Akechi’s heartbeat opposite his, and he’s just so, _so_ glad it’s there at all.

Akira is apt at following orders even through the blur of lust. He tries to hold back against the mounting pressure, pulling away again ever so slightly, getting the exact reaction he needed to know it was worth it.

Akechi’s eyes snap open in panic as he scrambles to grip Akira’s shoulders and yank him down, panting between words.

“No. I want—… _damn_ it _,_ Akira, please just come _inside._ ”  
  
Without even meaning to, he obeys- and he doesn’t need to be on the receiving end to feel how _good,_ how hot and full and _raw_ it is to finally do so; it’s never felt like that, nothing ever has, and he wants to live in a time loop where Akechi never stops moaning his name like this, coming all over the both of them and riding Akira out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

“—Ah, Akira… fuck, I love you, I love you so much, _please_ —"  
  
His stuttering quickly shatters into pieces, pathetic shreds of expletives and praise, before Akira finally smothers them all with a shaky kiss. He feels them both tremble from overstimulation as Akechi struggles to keep from moaning into his mouth, letting his hips rock softly upwards until he’s completely filled with the pulsing warmth and Akira is satisfied.

He won’t be satisfied, though, until he gathers enough breath to make one last demand with devastating insistence before either of them so much as come back down to earth.

 

“Stay.”

* * *

The text waiting on Akira’s phone when he wakes up alone, well past noon, nearly makes his heart stop.  
  
**Akechi Goro** [11:51 A.M.] _Don’t freak out. I’m coming back._    
  
He hammers out a response.  
**  
Me** [12:49 P.M.] _why didnt you wake me up i was about to lose my shit???  
_  
The span of five minutes has never felt so long. Eventually, the phone buzzes again.  
  
**Akechi Goro** [12:54 P.M.] _I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You were out cold and it was such a long night, I felt you needed the rest.  
_**Me** [12:55 P.M.] _i could throttle you rn_  
**Me** [12:55 P.M.] _but also >:^) because it was a long night indeed_  
**Akechi Goro** [12:55 P.M.] _…Anyway. Please come outside- and throw on some casual clothes first._

Akira nearly rips through the leg of his pants trying to pull them on. Once he grabs his keys and bursts out the front door, he can finally exhale.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Akechi sits halfway on a cruiser bike with his backpack slouched over one of the handlebars. He sports a black and white track jacket that Akira has definitely never seen before; he’d remember something that hugged the boy’s arms and the arch of his back in all the right places. A rental tag dangles near his wrist, and the red-gold bell jingles quietly on his keychain next to it.

“I prefer road bikes, but this was all they had. Get on.”  
  
“Did Tae give you the okay for this?” Akira tries to sound stern despite the fact that he’s already walking down the steps.

“No. I refuse to crush the entirety of my rebel spirit, but you’ll keep this between us, I’m sure.”  
  
The bike shifts as they balance their weight, and just as Akira is about to find a sweet spot on the long metal shelf, Akechi takes off.

He throws his arms around the brunette’s middle while tires crackle over the pavement. The jacket’s material is cool and sleek against his neck. He hooks a finger beneath the high collar of it and hums. “So… this looks great on you, don’t get me wrong, but I thought we talked about dressing for the weather.”

“And how would everyone in town react to the state of my neck?”  
  
Akira grins privately, pulling away the fabric and leaning in to press soft kisses over dark bruises. A noticeable shiver passes under his lips.   
  
“I’ll give you that one.” He leaves Akechi’s neck alone so he can focus on pedaling, enjoying the chance to hug him from behind instead. “Speaking of which, though: you might be under Tae’s radar, but are you comfortable sitting on a hard bike seat after—”  
  
“I will turn this thing right back around and dump you on the front step, Akira.”

He snickers and decides to shut up, attention drifting sideways. The beautiful glimmer of water next to their path makes him forget to ask where they’re going until Akechi makes a sharp turn into a nearby park. It’s quiet, being a weekday afternoon, so it takes no more than a couple minutes to find a nice spot with plenty of shade.

Akechi locks the bike to a bench and sits down, digging in his backpack for a brown paper bag and handing some of the contents to Akira.

His mouth waters at the scent of a fresh breakfast sandwich wafting up from the paper. Akechi nods in satisfaction, tapping his own sandwich against Akira’s.  
  
“Cheers to new beginnings.”  
  
Unfortunately Akira’s mouth is already full by the end of that sentence. The best he can offer is a curious mumble, but Akechi seems to understand.

“Right, that probably sounds quite grand. It’s just… well, Tae had me thinking these past few months. Thinking about all the things I’d want to do someday, if I ever found a reason.”

He fiddles with the edge of the wrapper and takes a tentative bite before continuing.

“There must be more kids in foster care right this minute with nobody to talk to. Wondering the same thing I did; wondering why I needed someone so badly, and where that person could be. Nobody ever said I didn’t have to be like my father just to survive. I can’t tell you how many caretakers told me how common my situation was… how these things just happened, and there was nothing to do about it. I couldn’t stand it. I was willing to do anything to prove them wrong. But at the end of everything, I’m still lost.”

Questioning eyes fall upon him.

“Is there a normal life waiting for me out there?

Akira is quiet. Tae warned him not to let Akechi get caught up in this kind of monologue. It always made him upset and angry, but as he watches the boy speaking gently about the future, even with such emotional undertones, he doesn’t have the nerve to stop it. It just doesn’t feel right.

 “I doubt a normal life is ‘waiting’ for anyone. Especially not us,” Akira eventually says. He isn’t one to soften the edges for things like this anymore; Akechi wouldn’t want him to do it anyway. He rolls down the sandwich wrapper and convinces Akechi to tear off a piece for himself. “I still think that may be a good thing. Maybe being the one person who understands could help those kids before it’s too late.”  
  
“It won’t fix everything, though.”  
  
“No. Some things can’t be undone. But if you can find the merit in living honestly, and helping other people, I think there’s a lot to be said for that. I’m still here, right?” Akira smiles. “I don’t plan on leaving you isolated. I know what it does to people… and besides, I’m not the orchestrator of your fate. Nobody is, anymore.”

He trails off, ears ringing with the faraway resounding shot of Satanael’s bullet through a false god’s skull. Akira never felt strongly towards the concept of revenge, but that Christmas night introduced him to an intoxicating feeling he’ll never forget.

They stay quiet for a few moments to watch birds dip in and out of the water. Akechi still seems restless; maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep this train of thought moving, now that it’s already here.

“You mentioned new beginnings,” Akira says. “But you do realize life might be a big fucking mess in that new beginning, right?”

“I know. I want it to be.” Akechi breathes out, long and slow, and opens his eyes like it’s his first time seeing color. “I want to earn something worthwhile this time. Sitting here next to you, looking forward to a ‘beginning’ at all… that’s already unbelievable to me.”

Akechi stands up and grabs the bike by the handlebars, stepping towards the edge of the lake while it rolls by his side. When he speaks again, all the ambience drains away to make room.

“I meant it last night. When I said I loved you.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t see the shocked flush on Akira’s face.

“I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself, or accept it if you do, but this can’t be for nothing. Everything I learned can’t be for nothing. That’s why I’ve decided not to run away from this.” He crumples the paper wrapper like a distant, ugly thought. “I plan on learning what it means to love someone. It might take a while, so… I hope you’ll be patient with me while I figure out how to deserve you.”

And God, does Akechi feel so far away just standing at the edge of the water. Akira sees the ghost of the partition often, but if Akechi must stand on the other side of it a little while longer, he’s glad to see sunlight instead of shadows forming the halo around him.

He’s glad to see Akechi glancing back over his shoulder with the faintest hint of a smile, eyes just this side of bright in expectation as he pats the back seat.

 

“Shall we, leader?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading~! i really appreciate the comments and kudos and would love to know ur thoughts................ mwah mwah


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